


The Economy of the Heart

by Daegaer



Category: Weiss Kreuz
Genre: Assassins & Hitmen, Family, M/M, Major Character Injury, Male Friendship, Memory Loss, Psychic Abilities
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-17
Updated: 2013-04-17
Packaged: 2017-12-08 18:14:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/764466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daegaer/pseuds/Daegaer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Crawford is no longer the man he was; Aya finds he has become his responsibility.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Economy of the Heart

**Author's Note:**

> _Forgiveness is the economy of the heart . . . forgiveness saves the expense of anger, the cost of hatred, the waste of spirits._ Hannah More
> 
> Many thanks to [](http://louiselux.livejournal.com/profile)[**louiselux**](http://louiselux.livejournal.com/) and [](http://toscas-kiss.livejournal.com/profile)[**toscas_kiss**](http://toscas-kiss.livejournal.com/) for beta-ing!

 

"Help me."

Aya straightened up, and wished for his sword. Crawford staggered towards him, a blank, scared look on his face.

"Please --"

Blood covered Crawford's face and soaked his grey hair and clothes. He looked lost and frightened.

"Please," he said again. "I think I was in an accident."

He crumpled at Aya's feet, breathing erratically. Aya turned away, waiting for Yohji to come from the wreckage of Koua.

*

"You brought me quite a problem," Omi said, a little frown on his face. He glanced at Crawford's bed and sighed. "I suppose I can turn it into an opportunity. The man must have information."

Aya said nothing, just watched Nagi sitting by Crawford's bed, looking at him silently. It was unnerving, that focused attention, like a leopard seeing its prey.

"Is he going to wake up?" he said finally.

Omi shrugged. "The doctors say so."

"They say that about Yohji too."

Omi shrugged again. Aya tried to forget he was standing beside a Takatori.

*

Crawford woke up.

Yohji didn't.

Omi had Crawford moved to his estate and invited Aya and Ken to stay as well. After a full thirty-six hours of Ken's badgering, Ken's disgusting cheap beer, and Ken's hungover whinging, Aya reluctantly agreed.

"What do you mean, Crawford doesn't speak Japanese?" Omi said. "Of course he speaks Japanese." He turned from Nagi in disgust. "Shit. We can't just bring in an interpreter."

"I speak English," Nagi said.

"Aya. Your English is better than mine. You can sit in with Nagi while he interrogates Crawford."

Aya didn't miss the slight, offended flicker in Nagi's eyes. "I've never spoken English outside of school," he said, "but I'll do it, if you want."

Nagi walked out. Omi smiled his biggest, brightest smile and squeezed Aya's arm.

"Thanks, Aya-kun! It's always good to have back-up. It's not that I don't trust Nagi-kun."

"No," Aya said. "Of _course_ not, Omi. He's one of us, like you said."

"He is," Omi said. "He just needs to get used to that." He smiled again, that bright, wide smile. "And it's Mamoru. Don't forget again."

*

Aya rolled his shoulders, wishing he could get some proper exercise. Three days of questioning Crawford had achieved nothing other than to cement a limited English vocabulary in Aya's brain. The man forgot from one day to the next what he'd already been asked - forgot from moment to moment, sometimes. It was surprising how patient Nagi was, how quietly persistent long past the time Aya would have left Crawford to moulder by himself.

"How did you get out of Koua Academy?" Nagi asked again. "Do you remember the building collapsing?"

Crawford shook his head.

"Where's Schuldig?" Nagi said quietly. "Did he help you out?"

"I'm sorry," Crawford said. "I'd tell you if I could. I wish I could tell you what happened to your friend."

" _My_ friend," Nagi repeated. "You and he worked together for years - you wouldn't have left him behind. _He'd_ never have left _you._ "

"I'm very sorry," Crawford said again. He looked a little embarrassed. "I've forgotten your name."

Nagi looked down at his hands, folded loosely in his lap. He didn't move so much as a muscle, didn't look like he was feeling anything. Aya felt the air in the room go flat and still; he half-rose cautiously from his chair as Nagi looked up.

"My name is Nagi. You're Brad, Brad Crawford. We're going to help you, I promise." He stood abruptly and headed for the door. "Stay where you are," he said to Aya in fast, oddly calm Japanese. "Unless you want to be broken."

Aya looked at his eyes, and thought of everything that could be wrong even if Yohji woke up. He sank down into his chair again, and heard the door close softly behind Nagi. Crawford looked at him silently, a little afraid and eager to please.

*

"You should have _heard_ the fight," Ken said in deep satisfaction. "I don't think I've heard that Nagi guy string so many words together since we've been here. He and Omi were _screaming_ at each other, Aya. I wish I could have made out more of what they were saying."

"You could have put a glass to the wall," Aya said dryly. "Or used your professional skills to listen in."

"The walls were _shaking_ ," Ken said, clearly delighted to have gossip. Not that it was very exclusive gossip, Aya thought. Omi's -- _Mamoru's_ domestic staff were all muttering about what Nagi could do. "At the end I could hear they were discussing Yohji. Nagi said he didn't want to hear another word about him unless Omi started showing some interest in Crawford's condition. Like Omi should give a shit." His face darkened. "D'you think he was threatening Yohji, Aya? We could take him if he was, right?"

Aya thought about the children of Z Class, their limbs twisted and broken as Nagi strolled across them. He shrugged. "Maybe."

A polite knock came on the door and a neatly-attired man came in.

"Fujimiya-san," he said. "Mamoru-sama asks you to come and speak to him."

"Me too?" Ken said hopefully.

"No, Hidaka-san, I'm sorry," the man said.

Ken turned away, pretending he didn't care. Aya followed the man to Mamoru's office. Mamoru was sitting behind his large, empty desk, looking like a kid playing at being a salaryman. Aya looked closer at the shadows under Mamoru's eyes and the tired, drawn expression.

"Abysinnian," he said without preamble, "What's your opinion on Crawford's status? Report."

Being ordered round by someone he still wanted to think of as Omi stung, Aya found. He ignored his childishness and organised his thoughts.

"The amnesia is genuine, I'm sure of it. The medical records indicate that, and Nagi's reaction would seem to back that up, unless you have reason to believe he's dissimulating. He's confused a lot of the time, and has no idea what he's doing in Japan. Everything from before I found him seems to be gone. Crawford's hair was already grey before Koua went down, you said - perhaps he was suffering some complaint normal people don't get? You'd have to ask your resident member of Schwarz."

Mamoru looked up at him, level and still. "I know you don't approve," he said at last. "But Nagi has demonstrated loyalty to both Kritiker and me."

"He's a time bomb," Aya said.

Mamoru made a small, tired gesture. "You don't understand. That's OK. All right. I'm sending Crawford back to the hospital. Let's see what the doctors can do for him. I'd like you to visit him every day, Aya-kun, just to check up on things."

"So much for trusting Nagi's point of view," Aya said.

"I just want a second opinion!" Mamoru yelled, jumping up from his chair. He took a deep breath and looked surprised at himself. "I just want a second opinion," he repeated, very quietly. "Don't prod at me, Aya, I've had a hard day. You don't understand what things are like."

"What _are_ things like?" Aya said. He wished he hadn't as Mamoru just looked more tired.

"Difficult," Mamoru said. "Will you visit Crawford for me?"

"Yes," Aya said. If things got too difficult maybe he'd stop being Mamoru and willingly be Omi again.

*

The doctors didn't do Crawford any harm, but they didn't do him any good either that Aya could see. He could have told Mamoru it would be useless, he thought sourly, thinking of Yohji's still form, thin and pale under the sheet. What good had they done his sister either? Crawford should just be glad he was walking.

He watched his unlikely charge meekly submit to tests, and stared blankly at the MRI results a doctor gave him. Maybe Mamoru could decipher them, he thought. All he understood was that Crawford had had some sort of head injury the doctors couldn't explain. Like they couldn't explain Yohji's. _Useless_.

"Will I be here for long?" Crawford asked, on the sixth day. They'd both been quiet for so long Aya felt odd that the silence had been broken. Crawford looked at him anxiously, just like he'd been looking at him for days.

"I don't know," Aya said. "Till they give up on you, I suppose."

Crawford looked at the floor. "That boy," he said, "the quiet one --"

"Nagi," Aya supplied.

"Nagi came before you got here. He says we're friends, that we've been friends for years. He's just a kid," Crawford said. He sounded a little desperate. "I'm not some sort of pervert, am I?"

Aya blinked. "I don't know," he said. "You're not a good man, Crawford." It was deeply satisfying to see the look on Crawford's face at that. The satisfaction slowly died as Crawford's lost, unhappy expression didn't change.

"He had such bizarre stories," Crawford whispered. "I didn't know if he was making fun of me or not. And then he --" he licked his lips, and looked even more unsure of himself. "You're going to think I'm crazy." He looked straight at Aya, as if wanting to convince him of his honesty. "He said I can see the future, and that he can move things with his mind. Then he -- he made the bed lift up." He laughed bitterly. "I _am_ crazy. I was hallucinating, right? Seeing things that weren't real?" he clarified, as Aya puzzled out the unfamiliar word.

"You're not crazy," Aya said. "He can do that. And you told me once that you can see a little way into the future. You were trying to kill me at the time." He wanted to laugh at Crawford's dumbfounded expression. When, he wondered, had he become the sort of person who laughed at sick people, even if they were enemies? He began to hope Crawford would forget this conversation, as he forgot so much else.

"I'll bring you something to help you remember," he said, and left, glad to escape his enemy's misery.

*

"Photos?" Mamoru said.

"Maybe newspaper photos of your father," Aya said. "Of Reiji," he clarified. "Something that might show Schwarz in the background."

"Reiji wasn't my father," Mamoru said flatly. "All right. I'll put people on it. What am I going to do with Crawford, Aya? There's no point in keeping him in hospital and I can't just let him go."

"Bring him back to the house," Aya said. "You can afford a houseguest, can't you?"

"Do I really want Schwarz's leader as a guest?" Mamoru sighed, almost to himself, one finger tracing patterns on his desk.

"You have Nagi."

Mamoru looked up, his finger stilling. "He's different. I told you."

"Are you _sure?_ He was trying to get Crawford to remember about being clairvoyant."

"I'm not discussing this again," Mamoru snapped. "Nagi is on our side and that's that." He pulled out a pad of paper and made some hasty notes. "I'll have Crawford brought back," he grumbled. "At least I'll have Nagi here to control him if something happens." He pressed a button on his phone. "Rex? Could you come in, please?"

When she came in he handed her the note. "Have Crawford discharged from hospital, assuming the doctors say he's physically strong enough. See to those security arrangements."

"Yes, Mamoru-sama," she said.

Mamoru didn't watch her leave the room, turning back to Aya. "Anything else?" he aked.

"No, that's it," Aya said.

"If you'll excuse me then? I have a lot of work," Mamoru said, turning on his computer.

Aya left, frowning. Mamoru, it seemed, was used to servants and less and less used to friends.

Aya was not a servant to any Takatori.

*

"This is better than the hospital. Thank you," Crawford said.

"Thank Mamoru," Aya muttered. "It's his house. Here --" He thrust the photos into Crawford's hands ungraciously.

"Thank you," Crawford said again, his voice eager. He peered at the photos. "Is this me?"

Aya looked at it, trying not to see Reiji's self-satisfied face. At the edge of the picture Crawford had been caught looking to one side. It was the best of the photos Mamoru had found, and also had caught Schuldig in profile.

"Yes. Your hair was still dark."

"I don't like my old glasses," Crawford said, his tone determinedly light. "But I used to dress smarter than I do now."

Aya privately agreed. The glasses Crawford wore now were smaller-framed, neater. Mamoru's charity went beyond what was strictly necessary. The clothes were a different matter. Finding anything to fit a man of Crawford's height and build hadn't been easy. Rex had decided he could make do with tracksuits and t-shirts for the time being. Crawford stared at himself for a very long time, and drew himself up a little straighter, as if trying to emulate his previous self.

"And that's?" he said, touching the image of Schuldig.

"Schuldig," Aya said. "Nagi and Farfarello are in one of the other photos." He rummaged through them. "Here."

"I don't know them," Crawford said. "I don't know them at all." He handed the photos back. "Thank you," he said, clearing his throat. "You're very kind."

Aya stood there, the pictures held loosely in his hand. Crawford shouldn't speak to him like that, he thought. "I hated you," he said.

Crawford looked as lost as ever. "I'm sorry," he said in a small voice. "Whatever it was I did to you, I'm sorry."

Aya turned on his heel and left. Nothing in his life was as it should be.

 

*

That night he lay awake in the room he shared with Ken. He couldn't stay here, he thought. Not in the Takatori house, not on the Takatori estate. It was time to accept that Omi was gone, and the man wearing his face was not someone Aya cared to be around. Ken wouldn't understand, he thought. He should be careful in what he said, upsetting Ken and Mamoru would be counterproductive.

"Ken," he said, and then, more loudly, "Ken!"

Ken's little snores stopped. "Huh?" he said, and "Aya? Is everything OK? Are we under attack?"

"What? No. Ken, I'm leaving. I can't stay here any more."

"Oh." There was a rustle of bedclothes, and Aya could make out Ken sitting up and rubbing his eyes. "Why? Where'll you go? Are you going back to the shop?"

Aya sighed. He hadn't thought that far. "I haven't decided yet," he said. He couldn't go to the shop. What could he say to his sister that would make their lives whole? The thought of facing her made him feel small and dirty when he thought of the years of fighting for her in ways she'd never understand. He imagined her face as he told her he'd done everything for her sake, and how she would turn away when she saw the blood on his hands. All he wanted to do, he thought, wishing he could hide beneath the covers, was to go _home_ , but he had no home to go to. "I'll think about it tomorrow," he said at last.

"Aya?" Ken said after a long silence. "Can I tell you something?"

"What?"

"I think I'm sick. Or something. I -- in Koua, and before, I -- Aya, I like killing people."

"Don't be stupid," Aya said in distaste. "Of course you don't."

"Yeah, I _do_ ," Ken said. "It -- feels good, if you follow me."

"Shit," Aya said, staring into the darkness.

"Yeah. Shit," Ken echoed. "I'm going to talk to Omi. I bet he can find something to help me, don't you think? All that money and influence's gotta be good for something."

"I'd be careful what I said to him," Aya said. "He's not really Omi any more."

"That's crap," Ken said. "He'll take care of me. He's taking care of Crawford, isn't he? He's spending good money on keeping that piece of shit alive and whole when he should have just put strychnine in his IV the very first day. He'll take better care of someone who's his _friend_." He lay down again. "Hey, Aya?" he said.

"Yeah?" Aya said cautiously.

"I bet you're sorry you started this conversation, aren't you?"

"You have no idea," Aya said, and then they were both laughing, too hard, too desperately. "Ken," he said, when their laughter had run down into choked, ambiguous noises, "you're going to be all right, aren't you?"

"Yeah," Ken said. "Don't worry. Omi'll look after me."

"Yeah," Aya agreed. "He will."

He'd leave as soon as he could, he decided. The longer he stayed here, the more he lost.

*

"Where, precisely, do you think you'll go?"

Aya stared Mamoru down till he blushed. The possessive tone underlined yet again how much he needed to leave. Omi had always liked having everything neat and under control. Mamoru seemed to have taken that to new heights.

"I hadn't quite decided," Aya said, looking out the window into the garden.

"Do you want a job?" Mamoru said, his manner turning conciliatory. "In Tokyo? Another city?"

"No. Thank you," Aya said. "I need to look after myself for a while, Mamoru."

"Doing what?" Mamoru said. "Look, perhaps you should consider something like a college course --"

Aya snorted derisively. "I can't imagine myself as a student, Mamoru. There's always a place for someone with my talents, don't worry."

"You're going to work outside of Kritiker? You'll just be a common murderer," Mamoru said. He sounded shocked.

"I'll work within the principles I was trained in," Aya said. "But I can't work for you. Mamoru - if you were still Tsukiyono Omi that would be one thing, but I can't knowingly work for a Takatori."

"I'm not like Reiji," Mamoru said.

"No. But I still can't." Aya carefully didn't look at him. "You were a different person when you were Omi."

"I was always Mamoru," Mamoru said softly. "I just forgot it for a while." Aya heard him step closer, then step back. "If I could forget again, Aya-kun --" A little sigh. " -- but I can't. All right, do what you want, but let me help at least a little."

Aya nodded. "Maybe you could get me a plane ticket. I think I'd like to leave Japan for a while."

"Yes," Mamoru said. "Whatever you need." He stepped up beside Aya, looking out the window. "What am I going to do with _him?_ " he said resignedly, nodding at Crawford as he wandered round the garden. "I suppose I should have him put down."

Aya froze. Omi would never have said that. Never.

"What?" Mamoru said, looking at him. "He's earned it, many times over, wouldn't you say?"

"Yes," Aya said. Why should he care? Crawford was looking up into a tree. Aya followed his line of sight and saw a bird hopping from branch to branch. Crawford smiled like he'd never seen such a thing before. "We never received any mission to kill Schwarz," Aya heard himself say as he turned to face Mamoru. "It would have been one thing to kill them if they were impeding us in a mission, but not like this, Mamoru! We've earned the same fate but for the fact we were following orders to work for the greater good - kill him now, and you're a common murderer, like you said. You can't forget who you are, you said - well, he can't remember. If you kill that man you are not executing justice on Brad Crawford." He looked away, embarrassed. "Crawford's already dead," he said quietly. "That's just a sick man who looks like him."

"What am I supposed to do with a brain-damaged ex-enemy who can't even speak Japanese?" Mamoru said sulkily. "I can't just dump him on the street."

"I'll go to America," Aya said. "Let me take him along. You can give me a contact who knows how to find missing persons - Mamoru, you put a lot of value on finding your family, maybe I could find Crawford's." He shrugged. "It would make Kritiker look magnanimous, don't you think?"

"Aya-kun," Mamoru smiled. "You're appealing to what you hope is my better nature! I do still have one, you know. All right, you can take him. At the worst he'll end up in a place where he at least speaks the language." He looked out at Crawford still watching the bird. "Yes, that's probably better than killing him," he mused. "Nagi-kun is so unexpectedly sentimental."

Aya looked at him sidelong. "Ken needs to speak with you," he said carefully. "Be kind to him, he still thinks you're Omi."

"Good old Ken-kun," Mamoru said absently, as if he were recalling a childhood pet.

Aya carefully didn't shudder.

*

New York was noisy and confusing; Aya's brain kept stubbornly trying to turn half-overheard conversations, workmen shouting to each other, announcements in stores into intelligible Japanese. The apartment he'd rented with Mamoru's money was cold or, if Crawford had fiddled with the radiators, too hot. Crawford was over-excited by the city, smiling broadly and inanely at being able to understand what people said to him. Aya decided it would be best to let him calm down before they tried to find out if anyone, anywhere, had ever reported a son or brother gone missing. Nagi'd been clear on that. People didn't just walk up and volunteer for Eszett, they were recruited. Special people like Crawford, he'd said, were usually recruited with extreme prejudice. He'd shut up like a clam when Mamoru asked about his own recruitment.

After the first week, Aya stopped locking Crawford in at night. The man was quiet in his habits and oddly clumsy; it was stupid to fear he somehow after dark became the fast and agile opponent he'd once been.

"Does any of this look familiar to you?" he asked in the second week, as they walked down 5th Avenue. Crawford shook his head, looking delightedly at windows filled with expensive things no one needed. Aya blew out a frustrated breath. The damn place looked familiar to _him_ , he'd seen it in so many movies. Crawford may as well have been dropped on the moon. It was difficult to know, the doctors had said, how much brain damage there had been, to cause such total amnesia. Aya looked sidelong at Crawford, resentful. It wasn't right, he thought, that he should have the burden of all his sins and crimes, while Crawford was wiped clean, like an innocent child once more.

"We need to use the contacts Mamoru gave us," Aya said that night. "It's time to start looking for your people."

Crawford's knuckles were white as he clutched the dishcloth. "We can't," he said. "Won't they arrest us?"

"If you'd had a criminal record Weiß wouldn't have been the ones after you," Aya said. "I don't have one either."

"I only have some Japanese papers your friend lied to get me," Crawford said. "What if I'm deported?"

"Don't be ungrateful," Aya said. "Why are you trying to delay?"

"I can't just say _I think I'm American, but I don't even know what state I'm from_ ," Crawford said. "They'll think I'm crazy."

"They wouldn't be wrong," Aya snapped. He relented as Crawford stood there, bowed in defeat. "All right," Aya said ungraciously. "We'll try to narrow it down somehow."

"How?" Crawford said in a small voice.

"We'll ask people where your accent is from," Aya said. He shrugged at Crawford's dubious expression. "It's a start."

*

Aya watched Crawford cut his sandwich into small, small pieces, determinedly not looking up or engaging in conversation. A morning of stopping people and asking them to identify Crawford's accent had yielded a wide range of opinions, with seldom the same state twice, though Canada had been suggested four times. People had grown irritated and Crawford had grown more and more embarrassed when he couldn't tell them if they were right or not.

"Maybe I _am_ Canadian," Crawford said, when it became pointless to cut his sandwich any smaller.

"Kritiker is certain you're American," Aya said.

"Does your precious Kritiker even know the difference between an American and a Canadian?" Crawford snapped, shoving his plate away.

Aya glared at him. "Fine," he said. "You're a Canadian."

Crawford glared back. Then he covered his mouth and tried not to laugh. "Do you even know where Canada is?" he asked.

"It's -- that way," Aya said, gesturing vaguely. Crawford would never in the past have been embarrassed or shy, he thought, would never have avoided meeting someone's eyes. Although he'd said it to Mamoru it was only now, he thought, that he really understood that the man sitting opposite was not the man he had known. "I'm going to call you 'Brad'," he said. "You call me by my name, after all."

"Did you want me to call you 'Fujimiya'?" Brad said, worried.

Aya shook his head. "Aya is fine. Eat your sandwich."

Brad obediently scooped together the fragments of his lunch and ate them, piece by piece.

 

*

By the end of the week a reply came to the careful letter they had drafted, giving them an appointment for the following Wednesday.

"This man Inoue," Brad asked yet again on that Wednesday morning, staring at his reflection anxiously. "Are you sure it's all right to talk to him?"

"Mamoru says so," Aya said. "I've told you, he knew Mamoru's father." It was frustrating, saying the same things over and over. He didn't know if Brad was really forgetting, was trying to annoy him or just wanted reassurance. He felt unsettled; the cheap suit he'd bought for Brad to wear to the meeting didn't match what he'd worn while working for Reiji, but still made him look enough like his old self to set Aya's reflexes on edge. "Come on," he said, picking up the thin folder of documents. "We have to go."

Brad was silent on the train and through much of the meeting, leaving Aya to tell the story Mamoru had carefully composed. Inoue, a man in his late fifties, listened carefully, and looked briefly at the medical documents Aya offered.

"I have a translation," Aya said, pushing more papers forward.

"I'll stay with the Japanese," Inoue said, after casting a cursory glance at the English.

Aya thought of Nagi working on the translation late into the night and felt a spiteful happiness that his English wasn't as good as he'd claimed. Finally Inoue looked up again.

"A missing child cold case, between eighteen to twenty-one years ago, anywhere in the States," he said mildly. "I hope you're not expecting results by the end of lunch."

"No, sir," Brad said apologetically. "I'm sorry to have bothered you."

Inoue looked at him steadily, then down at the letter of introduction Mamoru had given them. "How is it you know Suuichi Takatori's son, Mr Crawford?"

"I don't know," Brad said.

"Yet you know him well enough for him to arrange the paperwork to get you out of the country - why didn't you go to the embassy?"

"I don't know," Brad whispered, looking at his hands.

"Brad used to work for Mamoru's uncle, Takatori Reiji," Aya said. "His paperwork was lost when the party headquarters were destroyed."

"That's what the letter says," Inoue said. He pushed the letter back and forth with one finger. "I knew Suuichi well when I was with the embassy," he said. "I kept in touch when I came back to the States and joined the Bureau. He never said he had a son. He wasn't married to his son's mother, I take it?"

"No," Aya said. "He and Mamoru found out the truth very late."

Inoue sat back and smiled slightly. "I was glad to see Suuichi's name was cleared; I thought the reports about him were ridiculous. Your friend Mamoru missed out on a lot by not knowing him earlier." He nodded decisively. "Leave this with me, I'll see what I can do. I won't have results for you too quickly, but if there is something there, it'll be found eventually. I'll be in touch."

Aya got Brad on his feet, and through a round of thanks and handshakes. It had gone better than he'd expected, he thought, perhaps he'd have Brad off his hands soon.

"Mr Fujimiya."

Aya turned back, his hand on the door. Inoue regarded him levelly.

"Give my regards to Suuichi's son," he said. "Tell him he'd do well to follow his father's example." His gaze seemed heavily ironic to Aya. "His example as a public servant, I mean. Young men can get caught up in romantic and fervent causes that might severely damage their reputations and careers. I'd hate to see that happen in another generation of the family."

Aya froze, then bowed deeply. "I'll tell him," he said, and fled.

*

"Do you think it will work?" Brad said. "Do you think he'll find my family?"

"I don't know," Aya said. "At least he can tell us other places that might help." Brad was more relaxed now, he thought, less likely to forget things from stress. "He knows about Kritiker. I won't be attracting his attention professionally."

"You said you don't have a criminal record!" Brad said anxiously.

"Shh! I don't. I don't want to do anything memorable that might get me one."

"You could switch to using a gun," Brad said. "That's less memorable than a katana."

Aya looked at him in disgust. "Remembering now, are you?"

"It was just a joke," Brad said, anxious again.

"All right, all right," Aya muttered. "I need a cup of tea." He led the way into a Starbucks and sat at the window, drinking tea and watching the people pass by. He'd have to find a job, he thought. The money Mamoru had laughingly called a severance package was fast running out. He wouldn't have taken so much as a single yen if he hadn't needed to look after Brad. Aya sipped his tea and decided he might as well start looking at restaurants near the apartment. It wasn't like he hadn't waited tables before, and he'd be free most days to make sure Brad didn't get lost or anything. He'd probably be able to bring home food as well. He wanted to laugh, suddenly. He'd had a _Porsche_ back home and now he was self-satisfiedly thinking about free leftovers.

He tried to stop thinking about the future. It wouldn't do to upset Brad again now that he'd calmed down, he thought, surreptitiously watching Brad sip at his cup and look happily out at the crowds. It took little to make him happy now, Aya thought, wondering if Brad would have rather died than be as he was now. The pleased expression gradually faded from Brad's face and he turned to Aya.

"You're watching me. Am I doing something wrong?"

Aya shook his head. "No."

"Aya," Brad said, looking back out the window. "The friend of mine, the one who you didn't find --"

"Schuldig," Aya reminded him.

Brad stared fixedly out at the crowd. "Were we lovers?" he asked.

Aya choked on a mouthful of tea. "What? I don't know! Why?"

"I find myself -- noticing men," Brad said. His ears were a dull red, Aya saw. "I noticed that before. I didn't want to say anything because I didn't know how you'd take it."

Aya took a more cautious sip of tea to give himself time to think. "What about that girl?" he asked, pointing at a blonde woman hurrying past. "Or that one? Are you sure you're not noticing them like that?"

Brad hunched his shoulders and looked even more embarrassed. "Christ," he said. "You think that was easy for me to say? And you just try to tell me I'm wrong?"

Aya fell silent, embarrassed too. "I really don't know about Schuldig," he said at last. "He was always very --" He stopped, unsure of any word he knew in English that could describe Schuldig in this context. "Brad, I never once thought about your sex life. Or his. Honestly."

"Nagi said he'd never have left me, he'd have got me out of Koua if he could," Brad said. He sounded lost once more.

" . . . yeah," Aya said. "I think that's right. Whatever else, he was your friend. I'm sorry, Brad."

"I don't remember him," Brad said quietly. "He's gone like everything else." He was silent a long while, staring down into his cup of tea as it went cold, then he drew a deep breath as if waking up. "Are you freaked out by me?"

"Don't be a moron," Aya said. "Not any more than usual, anyway."

Brad's smile slowly turned more genuine.

*

After another two weeks Inoue called to bring them up to speed with the fact he had no information as yet. Aya rolled his eyes and thanked him politely.

"Another area in which Weiß outperformed the officials," he muttered. "We reported information when we actually had some."

"I suppose Schwarz would just have shot anyone who made a report like that," Brad said.

Aya smirked. "We'd have stopped you."

"Sure," Brad drawled.

He didn't look so anxious when he made a joke now, Aya thought, pleased. He tapped the envelope on which he had taken notes during the call.

"He has more suggestions for other agencies and groups we can try - he says some of them might have started a bit later than our time-frame but they could still have relevant archives."

"I'll start making calls," Brad said, and took the envelope. Without further thought he rang the first number.

Aya watched him calmly and efficiently ask the best way of investigating a long-cold trail of a missing child, and felt obscurely proud. He'd got Brad to this point, he thought, when Mamoru had wanted him put down like an unwanted animal, when Ken had been full of fury at his presence, when Nagi had done nothing but despairingly turn him over to Mamoru. It wouldn't be long before he could turn Brad over to someone else, or perhaps let him search alone. The thought made him feel suddenly uneasy, as if he'd thought of getting rid of a friend. Stupid, he thought. It's what you've worked towards. He went to their little fridge and pulled out two bottles of the beer he'd bought earlier.

"Here," he said when Brad hung up. "To celebrate future success."

Brad smiled. "I'll drink to that." He took a swig and grimaced. "Or maybe not. You got this because it was cheap, didn't you?"

Aya took another mouthful. "You'd appreciate it more if you'd ever suffered the crap Ken drinks."

"I bet I was used to something better," Brad said, eying the bottle like he wouldn't mind assassinating it.

"Tough," Aya said. "Drink up." Brad did, and didn't refuse a second bottle, so Aya supposed the beer wasn't as bad as he'd said. He looked younger, sitting at their rickety table, drinking cheap beer. So what if his hair was grey, Aya thought. Mamoru's hair had seemed greyer every day and _he_ was barely touching twenty.

"What?" Brad said indistinctly round the neck of his bottle.

"Nothing. You just look sort of normal, wearing a sweater and jeans. Those cream suits were trying too hard."

"Normal. Thanks," Brad said sarcastically. He shook his head. "I really wore cream suits? All the time?"

"I'm not even going to try to tell you what you wore in Koua," Aya said. "Mind you, Mamoru had designed _our_ new and improved clothes for missions by then. I'm glad you can't remember."

He was sitting with Brad Crawford, drinking beer and discussing fashion. Schuldig was no doubt laughing his crazy ass off in Hell. Well, they'd both lost their old lives, they deserved a drink or three. Aya fetched the last two beers and clinked the bottles together.

"To absent friends," he said.

"Absent friends," Brad echoed, his eyes never leaving Aya's face.

*

"Are we going to be in New York over Christmas?" Brad asked, idly gathering a double handful of snow.

"It looks like it," Aya said, keeping an eye on where the snowball was. Brad was nowhere near as fast and coordinated as he'd once been, but he had a surprisingly mean aim with a snowball. Aya had been so outraged with shock the previous day that he'd stood still long enough to get a second snowball in the face. "I hope you haven't got your heart set on something elaborate and Western. I haven't the faintest idea how to cook a turkey. And we couldn't afford much of a one anyway."

"We could contact Tokyo and ask for more money?"

"No way," Aya said. "I told Mamoru I wanted independence."

"I feel guilty about you working in the restaurant."

"It's honest work," Aya said, ducking in time for the snowball to miss. "Which, to be honest, you might want to consider taking up."

"I don't know anything about being a waiter," Brad said, wide-eyed.

"It's simple. Take the customers' orders, bring out the customers' food, do not assassinate the customers."

"I wouldn't," Brad said.

"You'll change your mind about that once you get your first few tables of assholes," Aya said. "Now stop messing with the snow and let's get moving on the shopping."

He secretly liked the snow, he thought. It made New York look even more like the movies, with bundled-up shoppers flocking from store to store, and charity collectors ringing bells. Brad was looking round him like a kid who'd never had a Christmas before. In a way, Aya supposed that was true.

"You're like a little boy, dreaming about what Santa will bring," he said.

"Yep," Brad agreed, pink-nosed and cheerful. He stopped dead, as if a thought had just struck him. "Of course, I might be Jewish," he said, and started to laugh. "Never mind," he hiccoughed at Aya's blank look. "Oh, God." He took off his glasses as they started walking again to wipe his eyes, still sniggering.

"Gaijin are crazy," Aya said happily. " _Crazy_. You don't see a normal person like me walking along laughing to themself."

He half-turned to grin at Brad.

Brad's eyes widened in shock.

He dropped his glasses on the sidewalk.

He moved, fast, one hand sweeping up in a blocking manoeuvre, the other knocking Aya to one side. Aya started to yell at him, and then focused on the boy whose wrist Brad now had firmly in one hand, and on the knife the boy held.

"Let me go, you fucker!" the boy yelled and squirmed close to bite Brad's hand.

"Fuck!" Brad said, letting go.

The boy took off, weaving in and out of the crowd. Aya looked round quickly. He couldn't see any other obvious danger, just confused shoppers who moved on, their Christmas preparations more important than any disturbance. Brad was standing still, shaking. Aya bent and scooped up Brad's glasses and the knife the boy had dropped, then grabbed Brad's elbow, steering him back towards the apartment. The shopping could wait.

"Shit," Brad muttered as Aya shoved him down onto a chair. It was the first word he'd said since the boy had run. Aya got a bottle of disinfectant and dabbed at the bite. "Shit!" Brad said again, jerking his hand away. "That hurts!"

"He drew blood," Aya said, reclaiming the hand. "Stop acting like a baby." He finished up and tidied the disinfectant and cotton wool away. Then he turned to face -- Crawford, he supposed.

"You saw the future," he said, and watched the blood drain out of Brad's face.

"No," Brad said.

"He was coming at me, right? And you had me already shoved out of the way and him immobilised just as he drew his knife. Little bits of the future, you once said to me, but enough to make a difference. Can you remember anything about Schwarz?"

"He had a _knife_ ," Brad said. "He was acting -- weird. Suspicious." He stared at the knife on the table. "I saw the light on it. Or I saw him getting up the nerve. I can't see the future." He let the silence stretch on and on, then, "I just knew something was wrong. I don't remember before, Aya. I don't even know how I blocked him, I just -- did it." He winced. "My shoulder sort of hurts."

"You're out of practice," Aya said still watching him cautiously. He had his lost expression back, was looking timid and miserable. Surely, Aya thought, Crawford couldn't keep that up, even to fool an enemy? The man was proud and convinced of his own superiority. Surely this was just Brad? It was confusing that he wanted so much for that to be true. "Why did you do it?" he asked. "You might have been hurt."

"He was going to hurt you," Brad said. "I couldn't let him --"

"He was just a kid," Aya said dismissively, though he knew better than to discount young killers. He couldn't let Brad think it would be safe to try something like this again.

"Something was going to be so horribly _wrong_ ," Brad said, jumping up. "Everything was going to be wrong, Aya --" The sentence ended up jumbled and stifled as he caught Aya in an awkward embrace, an arm about his waist, the other hand against the back of his head, and buried his face in his shoulder.

Aya stood there stiffly, shocked, Brad's breath warm against his neck. As gently as he could pried himself free from the death grip, feeling a rush of sudden relief. This _wasn't_ Crawford, he thought, and shied away from the feeling of pleasure the thought brought with it.

"Come on," he said. "Let go. It's OK, but let go."

Brad mostly did, and looked shamefaced. "Sorry," he said. "I didn't mean anything -- weird." The look in his eyes and the way his hand was still caught in Aya's hair made a liar of him.

Aya thought of him begging for help outside the wreckage of Koua, of his anxious obedience in the hospital, of Brad telling him he was kind. He found a smile, glad he was the better liar of the two of them.

"Idiot. I know. You let me handle anything like that kid from now on, you hear me?"

Brad nodded, and things were back to being as normal as they'd ever been.

*

Early February was _cold_. Colder still when you were walking home at two in the morning, tired after a late shift. Brad yawned, too tired to talk much. Aya was proud of him - after a stern talking to the first night he hadn't looked once like he was about to panic. And the extra wage was useful.

"Well done for not killing anyone tonight," he said, just to break the silence.

"I decided there were more profitable revenges," Brad said. "The girl with the idiot boyfriend tipped really well out of guilt at his meanness. And because I flirted with her." He smiled sidelong at Aya, adding, "And when I flirted with the table of drunk students they _all_ tipped well."

Aya snorted with tired laughter. "You're incorrigible."

"Not any more. Now I'm perfectly corrigible – or is that even a word?"

"Don't ask me," Aya smirked. "You're the native speaker."

He turned his collar higher, and found he was happy enough with his life. It wasn't that he didn't sometimes think what life would be like when Inoue decided he'd done enough, that he had discharged an obligation to his dead friend and would allow himself to forget Aya's existence. The newspaper reports of murders and rapes let Aya know there'd always be plenty of work for someone like him. But he couldn't save everyone - for long enough he'd thought he couldn't save anyone.

Now, however, he had honest work where no one died, and where he'd made friends at least close enough to drink with now and then. He had an apartment that day-by-day became more of a home. The postcards originally pinned to the wall in Brad's room to jog his memory with famous landmarks had long since become mere random decoration. The kitchen smelled invitingly of good food; that it was mostly brought home from work and reheated made no difference. Brad had joined the library, and brought novels for himself and a startlingly random selection of books in Japanese for Aya. At least the travel books were useful for finding stuff for them to do during the day.

"Do you think we're ever going to find someone I belong to?" Brad said behind him as they climbed the stairs to their door.

"It's a big country. Give it time," Aya said. "You're not in a rush, are you?"

Brad looked up at him and smiled the broad, cheerful smile he'd never have had in his old life. "No," he said. "I'm not."

"Well, then," Aya said.

It wasn't the life he'd had, nor anything like he'd imagined. For too long he'd lived one full of revenge and anger and dragged those he'd thought he was saving into the maelstrom with him. His smaller, quieter existence felt more and more like he'd stumbled into something unexpectedly good. He smiled as he got out his keys, hearing Brad hum tunelessly behind him. He'd saved at least one person, finally.

He closed the door behind them, quiet and happy.


End file.
